Seraph's Hope
by Blueezy
Summary: AU In the future, totalitarianism rules. Gifted Children are sought out and recruited for military. Indoctrinated by ideological teachings, Shikamaru lived impassively as a soldier until the day a girl whirlwinds into his life ShikaIno and more
1. Intro, Prologue, Ch1 Educate The Mind

I know nothing about the military nor do I have any knowledge of weapons. Basically, I'm just making up a lotta crap. Hope readers like it!

Naruto belongs to Kishimoto. The excerpts from Sun Tzu's Art of War came from the English translation by Lionel Giles. And any deviation from his translation is the bit of alteration done by yours truly. I would translate the writings myself but I can't read old Chinese LOL. Even if I could, I don't know enough to translate. So all hail good translators.

I know nothing about guns so I asked my brother and he told me some stuff but I'm still basically confused so I'm just going to make up my own guns. Hope no one here is a real stickler about accurate writing about firearms. #sweatdrops# My bro is already suspicious about why I'm all of a sudden curious about guns. Hell no am I about to tell him my secret fanfic writing hobby!

Once again, this fic is completely AU and totally made up. Don't go all crazy on me when whatever term I use isn't accurate to the way it's used now. Think of this fic as a blend of many worlds.

WARNING: THIS FIC IS RATED R AND HAS A LOT OF VIOLENT CONTENT, FOUL LANGUAGE, QUESTIONABLE MORALITY AND DEATH! LITTLE CHILDREN TURN AWAY NOW! DITTO FOR THOSE WHO PREFER FUZZY FICS! ESPECIALLY SINCE I HAD A HARD TIME WRITING CERTAIN PARTS OF THIS FIC MYSELF! (Excuse me for having a soul)

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Intro:

Human rights and personal freedom are things of the past that live in only the vaguest parts of the collective memory of humankind. These liberties that people have long held for granted started to decline at the beginning of 2001, due to the continuous corrosion of rights that came in the form of a series of radical laws. Such sweeping changes in public policy rationalized the use martial law in the interest of national security. Citizens, who were full of fear, readily gave in to the increasingly controlling regime without protest, except for the brave few who ended up incarcerated for un-patriotic behavior.

In companion to the attrition of the Bill of Rights, the democratic spirit gave way to the rise of the autocratic government that became established in year 2014, and continues to prevail to modern day. Now it is year 2094, an era when military might is all that matters when it concerns the affairs of international relations. Totalitarianism is the prevailing political concept that the countries around the world model their government after. For each country, mining their own populations for the gifted became the primary goal, second only to sabotaging the interest of other countries.

Children are evaluated at a young age for military potential. Those that show a glimmer of promise, whether it came in the form of physical or mental genius, are recruited by specialized branches of the government for personalized training. In a world that has forgotten the pursuit of life, liberty, and justice, the future is bleak and bloodshed is often. In a world that has forgotten how to love the fellow man, it is hard to imagine that anyone can rise above their time and with helping hands, fan the fire of hope in the hearts of the people into a passionate flame.

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Prequel: Death of a Soldier

"Agent Seraph?" The one who spoke looked over from the end of the hallway; the shaded goggles that were a part of the uniform reflected the hint of light that was available in the darkness.

"Yea?" Seraph replied and sounded to be in somewhat of a bad mood. The belt that went around the hips with two loops that went around each leg was causing the pants to dig uncomfortably into the thighs.

"Here is where we split up, am I right?" The young soldier asked hesitantly. It was his first day on the job and he feared to venture the rest of the mission on his own.

Seraph patted the pockets of the vest that protected the body from certain bullets until hands felt enough bullet clips to be satisfied. "Yes. You won't have my protection from now on. So don't get killed boy." Came the cool reply from the dispassionate soldier.

"Y-Y-Yes, M-M-M-Ma" The boy stuttered. Although a trainee and quite young, the "boy" was actually a few years older than the veteran agent.

"Just go." Seraph was still wondering how in the world a greenhorn was assigned to the elite squad of A.N.B.U. Maybe the superiors were planning on increasing the turnover rate. Whatever the reason, the bungling novice somehow knew the identity of everyone on this particular specialized squad. It was all very suspicious. Hopefully, the kid would get himself killed and no one would have to worry about identities being compromised when the enemies gets their hands on him. He seemed like the cowardly kind that would squeal under torture.

The amateur had just inched out of view by turning a corner when the faint echoes of feminine crying floated from the other end of the corridor. With a tilt of the head, Seraph listened intently to the kitten-like keening. The urge to investigate was getting stronger with each detectable sound of wailing. 'No, I can't go. I have a mission.' The dutiful agent mentally repeated. And yet, it seemed like a shred of human decency had survived the years of indoctrination and training. Because soon, the experienced agent was carried closer and closer to the distant sound of woeful cries by legs that refused to listen to the brain's command.

Slightly bent at the knees, Seraph pushed open a resistant set of doors and strode into a new section of the enemy headquarter. The building was departmentalized and this sector was oddly abandoned. With the area void of enemies, the silent atmosphere allowed the wails of human anguish to resonate with heart wrenching clarity.

Looking through the goggles, Seraph could see the area sharply as it was basked in the faded green light of night-vision electronic radiation. And the computerized goggles was good for more things than just seeing in the dark. Glancing to the left side of the monitor, the flickering bars of the lighted gauge that measured sound waves indicated which door, of the rows of them set against white walls, was the one that the cries originated.

"Nooo! Nooo! Stop!" The sobbing sounded distinctly youthful; like that of a child no older than ten.

Seraph went to the door that muffled the screams and nudged it open with the tip of a boot-clad foot. Peering in from the crack from which light poured out, the agent saw a scene that would horrify the most battle-hardened of soldiers; indeed anyone who still had anything human left in them.

A young girl of barely five feet was crushed to the grimy concrete by the writhing body of a man in military garb. Grunting and gyrating, the soldier whose pants hung low at the hips was violating the petrified child while she clawed helplessly at his shoulders.

As if a capsule had broke within the veins and released a liquid that had an exothermic reaction with the blood, the heat of rage flowed in burning lines throughout the agent who had stumbled upon one of the worst crimes against all that was good. With a sideward swing of the arm, the door snapped open and shuddered nosily when the hinges had reached its limit. "Get off her!" Seraph barely recognized the shaky voice that implied blinding rage had a hold on the speaker. "I SAID GET OFF!"

Surprised by the fury of the falsetto voice, the enemy soldier who was enjoying himself looked up alarmed; the whites of his eyes almost submerged the dark pupils in the center. Gawking at the person who had interrupted his session, he saw a skinny boy that was about five-six in height, clothed in the uniform of Fire Country soldiers. He wasn't able to see the boy's visage because he had a cloth mask that went over the lower half of his face and over the top to conceal his hair. The color of his eyes was buried behind the high-tech goggles he had over his face. But the rapist soldier _did _know the color of hair the intruder had judging by the blond tufts of bangs that peaked out from the edges of his mask. Despite the harshness of the voice, he could tell it sounded feminine, like that of a prepubescent boy. Sizing up the small stature of the self-nominated hero, the soldier started to laugh. "You think you can take me on, little boy?" He mocked disdainfully.

Seraph slipped the goggles off to reveal blue eyes filled with the grayness of thunderclouds before tossing the heavy item carelessly to the side. The goggles fell with a dull thud and rocked weakly on the spot it landed. "You're beyond help. I'm going to send you to hell where you belong." Seraph said while reaching to the belt to pull out a long-muzzled gun that was as dark as coal, and shone like smoky obsidian glass. Emblazoned on the sides of the gun was the shimmering gold letters that wrote: Sanchuu .50

Seeing the tunnel of the barrel leveled with his eyes, the man quickly lifted himself from the young girl and scampered to the other end of the room while tugging up his pants like the wretched being he was. As for the girl, the moment his deadweight was relieved from her body, she crawled painfully to a near wall where she curled her bloodied self and waited; desperately trying to disappear within the folds of her soiled dress.

Seraph lifted the bulky gun with ease and a shot rang out like an explosion of dynamite. At the same moment, a spray of red misted the air from the side of the man as he lurched to the ground. When he hit the hard floor on his good shoulder, the spinning limb that was airborne dropped also; the hand of the flaccid arm twitched as the severed nerves sent broken signals.

"Oh.....Gooooood!" He cried when he felt his own blood warm his body in a pool that bathed him.

"Did you remember God when you were raping her?" Seraph asked callously; the thick-soiled boots squeaked ominously with each heavy step.

The man rose defiantly. "I only did what everyone else does!" He clutched at the flowing wound of his shoulder. But the crimson blood continued to flow out from between his fingers.

"Self-righteous to the end. You're not worthy of my Sanchuu." Seraph growled and slipped the gun back into the holster.

"What do you care?! You can't judge me! You're a soldier also!"

Silently, Seraph reached an arm behind and pulled out a lustrous blade of a scythe, and not stopping there, continued to pull until all of the chain attached to it was revealed. That was when the patch of red sewn to the right shoulder of the uniform flashed briefly at the man who was about to die.

His eyes widened; mouth frothing like a rabid animal. "Y-You're" He was choking on his own tongue, "You're part of A.N.B.U., YOU'RE THE BLOODY PAINTER SERAPH!"

Seraph smiled behind the black cloth mask. Uncovered blue eyes were unreadable as they stared into the man's betrayed and dirtied soul. The scythe suddenly flew out and soared to the man, dragging the links of chain behind it. In a flurry of movements, the blade danced like a gleaming metal fan. Each flash of metallic light represented a fresh wound on the flesh of the enemy soldier. With each graceful arc of the seemingly autonomous chained weapon, a streak of blood would fly to the walls and splash like rain. Showing no signs of tiring, Seraph continued the attack; painting the walls with bold streaks of cherry, like a modern artist with his passionate strokes of paint.

"DAMN YOU! DAMN K.O.N.O.H.A.! DAMN YOUR SMUG HOLIER-THAN-THOU-ATTITUDE! VENGENCE ISN'T FOR YOU TO TAKE!"

The onslaught of attacks halted, and the scythe obediently flew back into the hand of the wielder. Clutching the weapon, Seraph shook it a few times and the blood slipped off the stainless steel surface, leaving the blade clean again. Sliding the weapon back to the strap that went across the back, Seraph gave the half-dead enemy a thoughtful look. "You're right" Seraph said after a moment's pause, "Vengeance isn't for me to take."

The soldier rocked weakly on his back. The blade had left him without any limbs. He was now only a torso and the mad glint in his eyes explained why he was still alive. He was living off the natural high that came with insanity. "Do you want to know why killing me wouldn't change a thing?" He asked with a crazed grin. "Because there's plenty more like me out there. We're soldiers. We kill. And each time we kill someone, more will rise to take the place of the fallen. Lets just say I kill a soldier from Fire Country today. I kill that soldier and that soldier's family, mad with grief, will probably end up in the army too, so they can come and kill more of me. Then I get killed and my friends and family takes my place to kill more of you! And when all the adults of a family are killed off, what happens to the little orphans? We soldiers go pick them up. I DESERVE A LITTLE HAPPINESS IN MY PUTRID LITTLE LIFE! NO ONE WANTS THESE KIDS ANYWAYS! BUT I DO! I DO!"

Not paying attention to the man's tirade, Seraph walked to the trembling child and extended a hand gently. "Come here darling. I won't hurt you."

The dirt-covered hands of the little girl went to her face to brush back her stringy brown hair. Lifting up her chin, the luminosity of her green eyes caught Seraph off guard.

"It's ok. Come here, sweetheart." Seraph crooned delicately.

Visibly relaxing, the trusting girl scooted closer with a growing smile and started to speak in her sweet childish voice. "You sound really nice," The brilliance of her cherubic smile was overwhelming, "Your voice is not like the other soldiers. Its softer...kinder....Thank you for saving me."

An invisible force was tugging at the corners of Seraph's mouth. It might actually be a smile. "Listen to me little girl. For today's crime, vengeance isn't mine to take. But it is yours. Do you want it?"

"What's vengeance?" The green-eyed child asked innocently.

Patiently, Seraph started to explain. "Vengeance is what allows you to sleep at night. Vengeance is what takes the weight off your chest. But that's only after you've had your vengeance."

"Vengeance sounds like a nice thing....I guess I would like to have some..."

"Good."

The man was rolling in his pool of red liquid. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU K.O.N.O.H.A. SOLDIERS DID TO MY WIFE?!" He screamed shrilly, with bits of spit flying and strings of sticky saliva clinging to his chin. "YOU PEOPLE KILLED HER YOU BASTARDS! I WOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO RESORT TO THIS IF YOU PEOPLE DIDN'T KILL HER!"

"Obviously we did her a favor by freeing her from you. I'm sure she's in a happier place and grateful to us." Seraph replied calmly.

A tug on the sleeve made Seraph look back down at the girl child.

"You freed the woman by killing her?" The innocence in the girl's eyes was heartbreaking.

"Yes."

"With a gun?"

"Probably."

"WHY WON'T YOU PEOPLE JUST DIE?! IF FIRE COUNTRY FALLS, ALL OF US WOULD BE HAPPIER!" The dying soldier continued with his random outbursts. He was trapped in a fit of madness.

"Little girl. Take this." Seraph took out a Kunai 9mmx19 and held it out. The gun was a standard issue that all soldiers had. Its caliber was enough for an easy kill-shot but not so much that the recoil would be too much for the child to handle. "Take this and go to him. Aim and press on the trigger." Seraph instructed.

Obediently, the girl took the gun and slowly walked to where the man was lying with unsure steps. She turned around with a nervous look and Seraph gave her a reassuring nod. Turning back to the soldier, she took aim with hands that were unsteady with inexperience. 

"No no." Seraph stopped her. "Put one leg behind the other for support or the recoil might send you flying."

The girl nodded and slid her right foot behind the left and took aim again.

"Hey kid...don't tell me you didn't enjoy it." The man leered.

"You're a bad man and I hate you." The girl pressed the trigger and then the soldier was gone.

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Ch. 1 Educate The Mind

Smelling of disinfectant and glowing like a chamber from an asylum, the sterile looking classroom with its four slabs of whitewashed walls felt as oppressive as ever. The room bereft of decorations only had items of necessity: rows of metallic desks with laptop computers, an impressive rectangular monstrosity that was the lecturer's desk, and a green chalkboard that proved people had the tendency to cling to archaic times.

It was strange for a top-notch facility to have something like a chalkboard as one of its tools of teaching. The students never did figure out why the teacher insisted on using it for writing notes when it was the age of technology, seeing as using the chalkboard was both cumbersome and messy with its powdery calcium carbonate. They were sure that the janitors also wished the teacher would use something more conventional—such as the computerized holographic projectors that delivered everything from notes to movies with precise clarity, because it would spare them the extra duty of wiping up the chalky leftover.

Sighing, Nara Shikamaru of Team 10, 1st squadron, leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and kicked his legs on top of his desk. His heavy black boots of the issued uniform clunked nosily against the tabletop, causing the softly carried conversations around him to go temporarily silent, and a few glances from curious classmates to go his way.

The classroom was abuzz with the voices of quiet muttering from students. The soldiers who were usually stoic statues of perfect composure were getting restless with the wait. Most of them were probably worrying that the teacher's tardiness was a sign that a major mission was going their way. Frankly, Shikamaru didn't give a damn that they might be handed an important mission. There were always missions, and whether or not a particular assignment was vital to the strategic planning of their superiors made no difference to the fact that their lives were always on the line.

Feeling bored and sleepy, Shikamaru had just closed his eyes when he heard one of the wheeled chairs rolling towards him. The sound was steadily nearing him until he finally felt a tap on his shoulder. Slowly opening his eyes, he turned his head and saw a teenage boy who had a crimson streak of paint on each of his cheeks.

"Oi, Shikamaru? How late is the teacher?" He asked, looking a bit anxious.

Shikamaru shrugged. "About thirty minutes I guess. Why? You already missing your boyfriend, Kiba?" He replied with a smirk.

Kiba scowled and gave Shikamaru an irritated punch in the shoulder. "How many times do I gotta tell you to stop calling him that?!" He grumbled.

Inuzuka Kiba was a member of Team 4 and also in the 1st squadron like him. He was recruited at age six when his first grade teacher reported to the scouts the tales of his superior physical abilities. "Recruited" was a term that was loosely associated with the actual definition of the word. Dragged screaming and kicking away from his family was more accurate to what happened to Kiba.

His family was against his joining the military, not that they or Kiba himself had a choice in what happened to him. Deaf to the protests of the Inuzuka family, the army personnel showed up at their house in the dead of night and whisked Kiba to the facility where he joined the other kidnapped children.

The usual tests were immediately administered to him and Kiba's results proved him to be a sterling candidate for the program. But instead of cooperating and living up to his potential, Kiba refused to socialize or participate in training. The superiors didn't understand his rebellion because the military psychiatrist had classified him as someone who possessed a pack mentality. By all means, he should be the type that would thrive in an environment of his peers by readily incorporating himself among them to find a personal niche in the social hierarchy.

Eventually, the caretaker of his team recommended that he be given a pet to bring him out of his depression. And in an unprecedented decision, the superiors actually agreed and assigned him a working dog. Akamaru was what Kiba named the dog and they bonded immediately. They were inseparable since the day they met, which is why his friends jokingly refer to Akamaru as Kiba's boyfriend.

Shikamaru lifted his chin and looked around before noticing a vacant seat. "Hey, where's Sasuke?"

"I think he's still on his mission. He never did return to the barracks last night." Kiba said as he started to kick his legs to spin his swivel chair in circles. He had a thing against not moving for longer than five minutes.

"Good," Shikamaru replied, "That guy is so damn troublesome."

Kiba started to laugh vociferously, the corners of his eyes crinkled in mirth and his fangs gleamed from within his opened mouth. "You're just mad that he's as smart as you!"

"He's not 'as smart' as me." Shikamaru quipped, "and I don't get 'angry'. It's not in my nature."

"You don't get 'happy' either." Kiba said with a contemplative air.

Shikamaru snorted derisively. "What's there to be happy about? We get up, we train, we go to work, and then we come back and go to sleep. When we're not training or killing, we're forced to take classes. When we're not actually learning anything useful in class, we're forced to recite the brainwashing doctrines. When we're not reciting the mind-numbing doctrines, we're wowed with the stories of Seraph's success on the field. You know, sometimes I wonder if Seraph is even a real person. I honestly suspect it's an imaginary super soldier that the superiors concocted so that we'll all have a goal to work towards."

"Aw man...You know he's real. We've all seen videos and documents of his work. He's amazing."

"Then where is he now?" Shikamaru turned his head and looked intensely at his friend. "He's been missing from the spotlight for over a year. And do you recall anyone ever saying that they've actually met him? None of us that's for sure. The only ones that's ever claimed to have interacted with him and survived are the superiors."

"Hey man..." A tendril of worry crept into Kiba's expression. "You're starting to sound crazy. Like you're thinking counterrevolutionary thoughts.... Besides, Seraph's level is completely different from ours. Maybe his recent missions are all classified and kept secret even from us."

Shikamaru shook his head in frustration. "Sometimes I think I should just let myself get killed on a mission. I have no real purpose in life. None of us do."

Without warning, Kiba grabbed Shikamaru by the shoulders and shook him firmly—his claws dug painfully into his shoulders. "Don't say that." He hissed with conviction in his voice, "Of course we have a purpose. Our purpose is to protect the Fire Country. Our purpose is to protect national interest and kill anyone who opposes our belief. That is why K.O.N.O.H.A. was created. We're the only ones around who can protect our families and friends from savages and foreigners. One and the same I say. Or have you forgotten the teachings?"

"Have you even seen your family after you joined?"

"That's not the point and you know it."

Shikamaru lowered his head and breathed out slowly. "Yea...you're right. I'm sorry." He whispered, "I don't know what's gotten into me..." He tugged uncomfortably at his black bulletproof vest and put a hand to his head to adjust his high ponytail half-heartedly.

Once again carefree and relaxed, Kiba released his hands from Shikamaru's shoulders and slumped backwards in his chair. He scratched at his head of ruffled brown hair and flashed his friend a grin. "I guess that's why we still have to attend class even though it's a pain in the gluteus maximus. Just in case we ever forget our reason for existence."

Shikamaru quirked an eyebrow. "Gluteus maximus? Big words we're using today."

Kiba's grin only grew, showing the perfect large teeth that were the envy of many. "Doncha know? I'm trying to up my vocab!"

The whoosh of the powered door sliding open stopped their banter and Kiba frantically rolled his chair back to his seat. In hurried a frazzled looking man who seemed to be in his late twenties, carrying an armload of badly organized papers that threatened to spill from the stack.

The class stood to attention as did Shikamaru and they saluted in exact conformity. "IRUKA-SENSEI SIR!"

The teacher hastily dropped the papers onto his desk and waved a hand at them dismissively. "Just sit down." He replied in a semi-loud voice.

"SIR, YES SIR!" As if they were all trained in the art of sitting down by the same instructor, the class pulled out their chair in unison and sat down, without deviation, at the same moment. The atmosphere would have remained respectful if it weren't for the blond teen that suddenly stood and slapped his hands down on his desk. "IRUKA-SENSEI! YOU WERE OVER THIRTY MINUTES LATE!!" He yelled angrily.

Iruka-sensei looked at the boy and sighed. "Naruto-kun, please sit back down."

The boy named Naruto didn't heed the teacher's kind form of command and continued to speak impetuously. "How am I supposed to become a soldier as great as Seraph if you don't even show up to teach class?!" He bellowed at his superior.

The teacher started to laugh before he masked it by faking a cough behind a fist. "A-hem...Naruto-kun." Iruka gave him an amused look. "You couldn't even hack past the simulated security system on the last test. Trust me, you're a long way from even being close to Seraph's level. Besides, I'm here now am I not? So you better sit down and try to actually listen to my lecture for once."

Naruto started to look embarrassed—the whisker-like black marks on his face contrasted sharply with his coloring cheeks. "W-Well, how am I supposed to learn when you show up late for your own class!" He retorted in an effort to blame his low test scores on the teacher. "You need to start class on time so I can learn and someday, become a soldier greater than Seraph."

From somewhere at the far end of the room, someone laughed pejoratively before saying: "Stupid! You can't ever be as great as him! You're only a foreigner! Go back to where you came from!"

"That's enough." Iruka interrupted. "Naruto may have immigrated to this country but that doesn't mean he isn't loyal to us."

The room hummed with indistinct comments that expressed disbelief, but no one said anything more to contradict the teacher.

Naruto, who had a stricken look on his face, smiled gratefully at Iruka-sensei before sitting down in a subdued manner. No matter how many times people questioned his allegiance, he never got used to the accusatory stares and caustic insults from those he considered his own people.

Iruka wasn't ignorant of the fact that Naruto was the exile of the regiment. His colleagues didn't trust him and he never received missions of any value because he wasn't born on Fire Country land. Sometimes, when the boys his age were playing around in the mess hall, Iruka would see Naruto sitting isolated with the aura of piteousness hanging over him. The sight of the young foreign-born who forever had the faraway look of loneliness in his blue eyes always roused the feeling of compassionate pity without fail. Uzumaki Naruto was a good kid—always gregarious and eager to please. He was continuously trying to prove his worth to the comrades that wouldn't watch his back, and to the superiors who had his file tagged in red, a color of suspicion.

Iruka scratched at the scar across his nose and shuffled through his papers before finally finding the sheet he was looking for. "Ok men, before I start today's lecture, I want to go over a few crucial matters." He lifted his head and was raking his eyes around the classroom until his point of focus stopped at a specific spot. "By the way, does anyone know where Sasuke-kun is?" He glanced down at the paper he held in his hand. "Oh never mind. He's still on the field." The youthful teacher cleared his throat authoritatively before talking again. "Kiba-kun."

Hearing his name, Kiba bolted upright from his chair and puffed out his chest. "SIR, YES SIR!"

"In chapter five, titled _Energy_ from The Art of War, what did Sun Tzu say about simulations and what they actually represent?"

Taking a deep breath, Kiba started to recite the work in a loud and precise manner. "SUN TZU SAID: SIMULATED DISORDER POSTULATES PERFECT DISCIPLINE; SIMULATED FEAR POSTULATES COURAGE; SIMULATED WEAKNESS POSTULATES STRENGTH!"

"Very good Kiba." Iruka looked impressed. "I'm surprised you actually memorized it."

"THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT, SIR!" The teenager was the perfect soldier to the end.

"You may sit now."

"SIR, YES SIR!" Kiba smoothly sat back down and slid the chair until he was sitting right behind his desk again. His abdomen was a perfect seven inches apart from the edge of the luminous table that reflected silvery light from its metallic surface.

"And Naruto-kun."

Upon hearing his name, the boy who wasn't paying attention jolted upwards in alarm. "Um...yes?"

Iruka fixed a disapproving glare at the lackadaisical student before asking his question. " Chapter thirteen on the use of spies, what did Sun Tzu say in paragraph eighteen?"

Naruto hastily rose and almost tripped over his own chair before he straightened his back and gave the educator an energized salute. "SIR, YES SIR! SUN TZU SAID: BE A SUB! BE A SUB! AND USE YOUR PIES FOR KIND BUSINESS!"

The class looked around, utterly confused by his recitation. Meanwhile, Iruka was trembling quietly with his head bent low to his chest. The frustrated teacher was caught between the overwhelming urges to either laugh or throw his chalk at the blond idiot. "Naaaaaruuuutooooo!" Iruka growled lowly from between his clenched teeth. 

"Yes sir?" The seventeen year old replied innocently.

Coughing a few times, Umino Iruka lifted his head to continue when he decided that he had recovered his equanimity. "Shikamaru-kun, teach Naruto-kun the actual wording."

Very slowly, Shikamaru slid his chair back. And equally slowly, he lifted himself from his seat to stand listlessly before he delivered a haphazard salute. "Sir, Yes Sir. Sun Tzu said: Be subtle! Be subtle! And use your spies for every kind of business."

Quiet laughter started up among the soldiers as most of them took quick looks at the reddening face of Naruto. Most of the guys were satisfied with hushed jeering except for the one who felt the need draw attention to himself. "Oi Naruto! I bet you're such a shitty spy for your country that your people abandoned you here!" The unidentified soldier called out obnoxiously.

"That's enough, Fujiyama!" Iruka snapped. "Step out of line again and I'll see to it that you serve a week in the kitchens! Naruto! Shikamaru! You may both sit down."

Without responding, Shikamaru dropped to his seat like a sack of weights. He was too busy being irritated with everything and everyone in the room to even care for etiquette.

As for Naruto, he was busily turning his head to every direction possible, searching for the man who made the snide comment. "DAMMIT! I'M PART OF K.O.N.O.H.A. AND I'M LOYAL! WHOEVER THE HELL SAID THAT I DARE YOU TO SAY IT TO MY FACE!"

"Naruto, SIT DOWN!" Iruka shouted, and in a moment of weakness, threw his chalk at the rowdy teenager.

(TBC: if ya like it. take the time to review will ya?Jeez pplz)

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Argh My bro is so annoying! He kept asking me why I'm asking him about guns and I keep telling him its NONE OF HIS BUSINESS!

Bro: WHY WHY WHY TELL ME!  
  
Me: ARGH! ITS CUZ I'M WRITING A STORY!

Actually, my bro brought up a good point. If it's in the future, why don't they just use laser guns? Well....because I like it this way? Shooting lasers all over the place gives me horrible Star Trek flashbacks.

And writing this chapter was sooooo damn exhausting. I really should try writing shorter chapters because long chapters are so mind-numbing and really hard to edit. BTW, Ino shows up in next chapter.


	2. And a Soldier Learns About Women

I must say, I'm very surprised at the lack of attention this fic is garnering. How discouraging. It's also left me feeling too cranky to write for many days.

Pet Peeves: unhygienic habits, irresponsibility, and ppl who read fics but can't bother with a tiny little review so I know if it's even worth continuing. People, I honestly canNOT tell if the fic is good or not because as the writer, I'm blind to its faults. Even if you don't like it, you can still lemme know why. #mutters# This is so not worth my time. If no one is reading this, I can honestly spend my already limited free time doing other stuff.

Sincerely yours,

Ms. Disgruntled

p.s.

I don't like this chapter. I felt uninspired when I wrote it. Hope my lack of enthusiasm isn't reflected as shoddy work in this chapter. Editing and extra writing may be in the future of this chapter.

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Excerpt from The Codes of Fire Country, AKA The New Constitution

1. All citizens of Fire Country are merry—to be discontent is to abhor the motherland.

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Ch. 2 And a Soldier Learns About Women 

As he walked down the boulevard on the smooth pavement that was frilled at the edges with broad trees, Shikamaru couldn't help but think that sometimes, being a high-level soldier had its perks. He was more fortunate than the other men; those herded like refugees into the barracks, having only their individual matchboxes that barely passed as rooms to provide solitude. Nestled snugly in his right pocket was the keycard that came with his one bedroom apartment. The flat piece of coded plastic dug into his thigh with each advancing step, reminding him that he had a better place to return to at the end of the day.

His level of clearance granted him liberties that others went without. The typically authoritative superiors were more permissive with him because they were pleased with his work, and felt comfortable enough with his measure of loyalty to not keep him by hand. In fact, they even allowed him to find residence out among the civilians so he could have some privacy to his life. He was also permitted more mobility; free to leave the compound for purposes that were non-mission related.

But no matter how much leeway he was given, the superiors still had a vice-like grip on the chain that bound him in eternal servitude to them. A chain they could jerk at any time to take away his miniscule amount of freedom. And they didn't trust him so much that he was allowed to pick his own abode. An apartment near the base he belonged suddenly became available when the owner _mysteriously_ disappeared. And that apartment, made secure later on by the military, was where the superiors had him situated.

Turning his head to the night sky where the stars were drowned out by the lights of the city, Shikamaru wondered if the clouds were still white pillows that allowed, during the day, curtains of sunlight to peek through the fissures of its bodies. Guilt suddenly kicked in and he immediately felt ashamed of his idle contemplation that had nothing to do with his duty to K.O.N.O.H.A. As a man who was far from being slow-witted, Shikamaru knew the casual thought that floated through his head didn't have any explicit contradiction to the New Constitution, but implicitly, it hinted that he was dissatisfied with his life. And because of the unexpressed nature of this thought, the years of state-institutionalized mental conditioning caused nauseating waves of self-reproach to almost incapacitate him. But that was _almost_.

He was growing used to the punishing emotions secreted by the mental blockades; the incorporeal but very real gates in his mind that functioned to regulate his thoughts. In fact, he steadily chipped away at its foundations by often entertaining "unpatriotic" ideas, and purposefully inducing its wrath so that maybe one day, those gates would crumble and he would have free reign over the workings of his psyche. But still, in spite of his growing resistance to the hold the mental barriers had on him, the conditioned response continued to have adverse effects on him, such as dizziness and sluggish motor responses. Stumbling a bit and tilting his head to the side, Shikamaru lifted a trembling hand and rubbed at his right temple. He was trying to ease the dull pain in his cranium when the new angle he was facing allowed him to see something curious.

Straight ahead on the narrow street that was between various high-rise buildings of apartments, his own residence located only a few blocks away, was a person laying face down and apparently unconscious. The rows of streetlights that studded the sides of the buildings shone brightly, lighting up the stranger's form and revealing to Shikamaru, the peculiar details of the person's condition.

The individual's physique was slight; as in shorter in height than him, and significantly narrower in build. It was most likely that she was female, judging by the length of her blond hair that splayed around her head like a pool of silken fabric. But he wasn't undoubtedly sure that she was of the female sex. Her figure was wholly concealed beneath the all-encompassing blanket that was her tan colored trench coat while she rested on her stomach. And although she wasn't awake, her hands were clutching stubbornly to suitcases: one in each hand, one large one small.

Shikamaru looked upon her with mild pity. She was probably a prostitute who met a violent end with a bad john, or a homeless druggie, or a slovenly drunk who didn't care where she collapsed in an intoxicated stupor. Whoever she was, it was none of his business. Shrugging the thoughts of the blond from the metaphorical shoulders of his mind, Shikamaru walked on. His home was just around the corner, on the third floor of a solemn looking building with gray surfaces. With this knowledge in mind, he increased his pace, hoping to crawl early enough into his comforting bed to get at least eight hours of-

"HEY! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?!" An infuriated feminine shriek cut into the middle of his thoughts.

Although he was surprised by the shout of outrage, Shikamaru didn't allow himself to turn around. Instead, he opted to continue walking in the direction of his apartment. It seemed that the woman on the street wasn't a dead prostitute or an unconscious drunk after all. But her volatile behavior caused him to suspect that she was a long time drug user. Only one whose brain cells were completely baked would dare to yell at a soldier, or possibly, someone who had tired of living and was looking forward to an early grave. When something hollow collided with the back of his head, his inkling of suspicion solidified into unquestionable certainty.

The object that hit him dropped from the air after losing its momentum to his inert head. The already fading sensation of pain left him momentarily stunned but when initial novelty of the unexpected attack wore off, he took a quick look at the fallen item near his feet and saw that it was an old sneaker. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" He hollered as he turned around, completely sure that he was going to put a bullet in the person until he was confronted by the prettiest blue eyes he had ever seen, and all thoughts momentarily fled him. Dragging his gaze away from the magnetic indigo eyes that commanded attention, Shikamaru saw that the rest of the woman wasn't bad either.

She had a heart-shaped face, dainty nose, long legs that were clad in denim shorts, and skin that glowed radiantly under the artificial lighting of the street. She was attractive and Shikamaru caught himself thinking that he wouldn't mind taking her to bed, which is exactly why he instantly disliked her on sight.

Women were troublesome creatures; beings that resorted to underhanded tactics like shedding crocodile tears at the drop of a hat. A smart man would avoid them like the plague they were for following reasons: First of all, they were never satisfied; always unreasonably demanding more, more, more, out of the poor saps they ensnared. They were also physically weak, troublesomely so, by subliminally begging for protection with the fragility of their bodies and their curvy softness.

Did they know that they terrified the men in their lives by being continuously vulnerable to the lust and violence of enemies? Did they even care, these surprisingly oblivious creatures. In his line of work, the last thing he needed was the unnecessary worrying for the safety of someone other than ol' number one. Besides, women in general were machiavellists that couldn't be trusted. The deadliest of soldiers were the most angelic looking ones; the kinds that donned skins of loveliness to package prettily, the pestilential poison that were their inner selves. And this stranger was pretty damn angelic looking.

The woman had an unwavering look of fury on fixed his face. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts and a sock-clad foot was tapping with annoyance. The body language of her entire demeanor was that of someone pugnacious, of someone who was waiting for any reason to start a fight. And as she scowled at him with displeasure written all over her face, her feet still tapping a rhythmic beat, the baggy trench coat she wore started to slid lopsided off her shoulders, ruining her effort to look formidable. "WHAT KIND OF MAN LEAVES AN UNCONCIOUS, DEFENSELESS WOMAN ON A DIRTY HARD STREET?!" She yelled heatedly, looking scandalously offended by his lack of caring.

It was late in the day and Shikamaru was tired and irritated. He lacked the energy to deal with the blond and his foul mood manifested as a scowl on his face. "You're not unconscious." He pointedly said, hoping the woman would take the hint and go on her merry way.

"BUT I COULD'VE BEEN! YOU DON'T KNOW!" She hastily proclaimed. "YOU SAW ME LYING HERE AND INSTEAD OF STOPPING TO SEE IF I NEEDED HELP, YOU IGNORED ME AND WALKED AWAY!" She pointed her index finger at his face, accusingly. "BAD SAMARITAN! DON'T YOU HAVE ANY SENSE OF CHILVALRY!? OF HUMANLY CONCERN?!"

The edges of Shikamaru's upper lip raised into a sneer. "Chivalry died with the rest of the outdated ideas." He snarled viciously, his tone hushed.

The woman had the nerve to wave her hands dismissively at him, as if fanning away his retort with nonchalance. "BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU SHOULD BE WITHOUT BASIC HUMAN DECENCY!" She snapped crossly. "Anyways, you have to take me home now!"

"Excuse me?" Shikamaru's face morphed into an expression of incredulity.

"Of course!" She said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm having a bit of financial trouble and have nowhere to live at the moment. No self-respecting man would leave a poor girl out in the streets, right? So you have to let me stay at your place until I'm on my feet again!"

Shikamaru now knew, without a doubt, that the woman was not right in the head. Not wanting to argue with someone who obviously possessed no logic, he turned and hurried away in the briskest pace he could muster.

"HEY! DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!" The blond screeched like a woman scorned.

Shikamaru's head snapped forward when the woman's second sneaker smacked into the back of his skull. With his naturally narrow eyes twitching in anger, the incensed soldier turned back to the woman and gave her a searing glare with his coal-black eyes. "Listen to me you little-" He shook his head and decided not to say what he had on his mind. "Show me your I.D., civilian." He demanded instead.

The woman stubbornly shook her head with her arms crossed and her demeanor defiant.

'Oooookaaaay', he thought. "Your I.D. NOW." He asked again, commandingly, in the adopted no-nonsense tone of a soldier. 

"NO." She replied, the single word was short and final.

Whatever was left of Shikamaru's patience was rapidly disintegrating due to the woman's exacerbating behavior.

"Give me your I.D. and I won't shoot you." He said to her, making an act of giving her a choice when there really wasn't one.

The woman raised her chin haughtily and peered at him through her fanned lashes. "You wouldn't shoot someone as beautiful and sexy as me." She called his bluff arrogantly then stuck her tongue at him.

Shikamaru reached to his side, gripped the handle of the gun that dangled from his belt, and extracted the sleek black weapon from the holster. "How about I kill you, then take your I.D. card from your dead cold body?" He monotonously said as he raised the Kunai 9mmx19 and pointed it with unwavering accuracy, in a kill shot between the shockingly blue eyes of the woman. His lips were a cold line of seriousness, his eyes, darker than its usual color with unreadable thoughts.

The young woman pulled down her right eye and raised the middle finger of her left hand, all the while still sticking her tongue out at him.

Agitated by her mind-boggling behavior and complete lack of fear, Shikamaru exhaled a defeated sigh and returned the gun to its leather cradle. To his dismay, the strange devil of a woman curved her full lips into a smug smile of victory. Dissatisfied with the outcome of their battle of will, Shikamaru resolved to make her triumph short-lived. In only a few quick strides, he was in front of her. Faster than she could react, his hand caught her wrist in an painful, unrelenting grip, before he pulled her to his chest with a forceful jerk. His face was contorted into an almost cruel expression, his slender eyes glowering down at her menacingly before thrusting his free hand into the open flaps of her coat.

The woman's eyes widened at his unforeseen intrusion of her personal space and she started to scream while thrashing uncooperatively in his grasp. "HELP! HELP! RAPE! RAAAPE!!! SOMEBODY HELP! HE'S TRYING TO RAPE ME!!"  
  
"Oh shut up." Shikamaru said sharply as his free hand roamed all over her body. Although the contact he made was intimate, it was conducted in a professional fashion. He was running his palm over the curve of her smooth rear when he felt something rectangular. Deftly slipping two fingers into her back pocket, he extracted the standard I.D. card all civilians were required to carry. After finding what he was asking for, he 'benevolently' let go of her arm by flinging her away from his body. He turned his back to her and effortlessly ignored the murderous glares the woman was giving him as he lifted the card to the light where he could read the large black print:

_**Yamanaka Ino **_

_Civilian #: c12604 _

_Date of Birth: September 23, 2075 _

_Residence: Sector A _

_Occupation: Student _

'Yamanaka Ino...Yamanaka.....Something about the name....' Mulling silently, Shikamaru lifted his eyes from the card to take a weary glance at the girl. In response, she pushed up her nose, flared her nostrils, and made obnoxious pig noises at him. Shikamaru rolled his eyes at her taunt and decided that she couldn't possibly be related to the Yamanaka he had in mind. For a while, her last name in combination with her blond hair and blue eyes made him take into consideration of her possible relation to Yamanaka Inoshi, the director of the Bureau of Intelligence, which was the branch of K.O.N.O.H.A. that specialized in espionage for purposes that were sabotage-related. But being on the receiving end of her sophomoric abuse, he concluded that a woman as crude as she couldn't be a kin of the distinguished Yamanaka-sama.

"Today is your birthday." Shikamaru declared as if he was speaking for the sole sake of issuing a statement. He didn't mention that his own birthday happened to be the day before, or that they were the same age.

"How'd you know?" She questioned immediately with a healthy dose of suspicion.

Shikamaru raised the woman's I.D. card and flicked it with his middle finger. The thin plastic snapped with the impact and resounded with a loud crack. "It also says here that your home is in Sector A."

"So?" She furrowed her flawlessly groomed eyebrows.

With his eyelids drooping and corners of his mouth bent down in a sharp angle, Shikamaru gave her a look that was the strange combination of boredom and exasperation. "Sector A is what we peasants call 'the filthy rich side of town'." He clarified for her sake.

"So?" She asked again, even less friendly than before.

"So Ms. Yamanaka Ino, care to tell me what possible reason can prompt a princess like you to leave your castle and servants to wander to this lousy dump." He sardonically inquired. "It's not a very safe place, especially for a little lamb such as yourself. There are many predators here and not all of them run on four legs if you know what I mean...." He let his sentence trail off ominously.

"It's none of your business and you don't scare me." She replied in a huff.

"You're right," Shikamaru shrugged carelessly "it IS none of my business so goodnight and goodbye." After saying so, he attempted to hurry off, hoping to god that this time, he would successfully escape.

"WAIT! IF YOU LET ME STAY AT YOUR PLACE, I'LL LET YOU TAKE MY VIRGINITY!" Her offer of quid pro quo surprised Shikamaru into taking a step prematurely before the rising foot had even completely come off the ground, causing him to trip over his left foot and fall unceremoniously with the pull of gravity. "JUST KIDDING!" She added with a giggle, absolutely giddy with her success in causing his mishap.

Lying on his front with his arms propping up his body, Shikamaru's hand was hovering towards his gun as the abrasions on his elbows nurtured his anger with their painful heat. He knew that if he killed her now, she wouldn't be able to cause more trouble for him in the future. With this thought in mind, he took hold of the gun and stroked the chilly arc that was the trigger with his index finger, all the while, contemplating dark thoughts seriously as Yamanaka Ino's charming laughter assailed his ears.

* * *

This chapter is considerably shorter than my normal writing but my fics haven't been getting many reviews recently anyways. Besides, its 1 a.m. and I still have class tomorrow. Initially, I planned to end the chapter at another point..... but I must say I'm surprised that I let it end with such a dark note. Maybe shorter chapters (which in turn might make updates more frequent) is preferred by readers?

Oh yea, this fic will flit from ultra dark and depressing to sometimes light and cheerful. Hope the alteration in moods won't throw anyone off.

**To answer some questions:**

Don't ask me Seraph's identity. My suggestion to readers is to READ the fic carefully and look for hints in various chapters. When I finish the fic, IF I finish the fic, I plan on making a list of all the clues to various things available just to see if anyone had caught on.

To Trickmaster: I didn't watch Matrix sequels (I must be the only person on this planet who didn't see it) so I don't know who Seraph is in the movie. But Seraph is another word for Angel, the kind with three pairs of wings (sometimes two). I think it's the first of nine orders of angel in medieval angelology. And I really can't say more while the fic is still in progress.

To Jeano: LOL yea, I'm a huge fan of shikaino. It's obvious isn't it.

To Fichan: I know I bugged the hell outta you to read this fic so thankies for the review!! (nakayoshi nakayoshi!). Knew I could rely on u! And thanks for putting up with my idiosyncrasies, rants, and general craziness.


	3. And Various Events Occur

I'm so disappointed disappointed disappointed. This version of chapter 3 is infinitely inferior to my previous version. In the first version, creepy was creepier and the overall reading was better. If only my last computer didn't completely die on me. (Worried about the health of her current computer also.) I swear if this computer also gets infected with some weird crud (I don't see how it could be possible) I'm gonna swear off computers and live without technology. This chapter is really rough, I apologize before hand. I gotta go out of town tomorrow and I wanted to get this posted before I go. I'll edit it later.

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Ch. 3 And Various Events Occur

It would be aberrant of him to allow some random woman of the night to follow him to his home. At the same time, it is unconscionable that a young and attractive lady would carelessly place herself in a position where she would be at the mercy of others. This Yamanaka Ino doesn't know who he is as a person. He could be a killer, rapist, or some other malevolent being who lived at the fringe of society. Is she so innocent (stupid) that she would think others are always what they present themselves to be? Or maybe, she was more devious than he suspected. After all, he didn't know her either. Perhaps under the guise of a pretty smile and irritatingly loquacious personality was something that would be dangerous to him. They were two strangers of the night; one heading home after the end of another lackluster day, and the other, an audacious blond that he had almost mistaken for a murdered 'working girl'.

Shikamaru sighed, feeling the full exhaustion of the day manifest themselves as invisible weights that pulled down on him. He thought that he must be getting old because he was being strangely contemplative this particular evening. 'I thought I had overcome that character flaw….. or at least have control over it', Shikamaru thought as he extended a hand to the impatiently waiting woman. The woman by the name of Ino looked at him questioningly.

"Well, give it!" Shikamaru uncivilly grunted. When Ino made no move to obey him, Shikamaru jabbed a finger at her luggage with annoyance. "You want me to help you carry your stuff or not?" He asked her in a tone that made his distain of the whole situation patently clear. Her eyelids drew back with dawning realization and for the second time that night, Shikamaru found himself powerlessly attracted to her shimmering, blue sapphire-like eyes.

"OHHHHH Thank you sooo much! THANK YOU THANK YOU!" Ino squealed as she threw herself at him, enfolding him against her as she hung off his neck.

"Get offa me!" Shikamaru yelled. Uncomfortable with the lack of personal space and unfamiliar with any show of strong emotions, he tried to extract himself from her arms. "Don't make me change my mind." He said in a warningly.

"Yes sir!" She chirped excitedly and sloppily saluted him with two fingers.

Muttering not quite under his breath, Shikamaru grabbed the handle of both luggage and proceeded to walk. He knew it was a bad idea to bring the woman along, since not even the men he thought of as brothers have been allowed to enter his home; his safe place of seclusion. It seems that the years of being exposed to the horrors mankind was capable of wasn't enough to kill all of his humanity. He still cared for the wellbeing of others in spite of his efforts to quash that lingering philanthropic nature. It was a character flaw that upon discovery by the superiors would land him back in re-education class. He didn't want to go back there. Not again. Not ever. But not even his blinding terror of being returned to re-education class was enough to persuade him into abandoning the blond. If he discarded this young woman in the streets, she might not live to see the next day and Shikamaru just couldn't bear the thought of that weighing on his conscience. He wasn't aiming to be a villain in the story of life. Nor did he actively take a stance against the injustices of the world. If it was possible, Shikamaru would like to happily settle for the role of antihero.

* * *

Not all lands were blessed like Fire Country; a nation with sufficient natural resources on native soil. There was a place that was an ocean of sand where the daytime and nighttime temperatures were extreme and living creatures were tested to their limit. Instead of having dense urban jungles with a scattered splattering of greenery, it was a place that looked misleadingly empty; at least on the surface.

While most countries such as Fire Country, developed upwards with skyscrapers that were like modernized versions of archaic monoliths, this country developed downwards; beneath the golden sun-baked sand, burrowing forever deeper into the temperate earth. Miles down, under the windswept desert and away from the blistering heat, was a labyrinth of underground facilities. It is in these facilities, shielded from the taxing elements of nature, that the government of this region operates. This place is the Sand Country; a terrain inhospitable to anything less than the strongest.

&&&&&&&

Spacious with melting dirt walls, the dimly lit room resembled nothing of human structural design. It looked like a lair that was hollowed out of dirt by some unknown animal of gargantuan size before the ground was paved by polished gray tiles. The only piece of technology that was visible in the room was a cone-shaped lamp, hanging from a stringy cord as the dying light bulb provided what was left of its fading orange light.

Beneath the lamp and in the center of the room, was a person sitting in an impressive-looking throne-like chair, cradling an indistinguishable spherical lump. The person's features were lost in the shadows. All that the sole light source of the room could do, was to outline the silhouette of the person with a faded glow. Judging by the person's contour, he seemed to be a young male, with broad shoulders and unruly hair that hung off his head like tassels.

The youth sat in his chair, rocking gently to-and-fro with the large shadowy orb in his arms. His hands would move once in a while as he swayed, to caress the abdominous surface of the round thing in his lap with movements that exuded tenderness. And often, his right hand would creep to his face where he would eagerly stroke an area of his forehead with his fingers. Whispered talking emanated from him but exactly what he said couldn't be discerned. In this oversized room that was dank and badly illuminated, the murmuring man sat alone with contentment; surrounded by a fragile aura of peacefulness that would immediately dissipate if any irritant is presented.

A stream of brightness poured in when a door opened and the long shadow of a person was cast onto the floor. "Kazekage-sama," said a soldier of the Sand Country, "Your therapist is here. Shall I show her in?" The teenage boy referred to as the leader of Sand Country responded with breaths of toneless laughter. Looking visibly uncomfortable, the soldier waited at the doorway for definitive instructions to be given. He didn't dare to take the teenager's creepy sounds of mirth as an invitation for the therapist because it was well known that the Kazekage wasn't the most stable of people.

The leader of Sand displayed behaviors that were anti-social, sociopathic, and completely against the norm. Nothing the feared Kazekage did could be taken by its face value or reasonably analyzed. The soldier knew that the unpredictability of his leader wouldn't be so dreadful if it weren't for the fact that it exacerbated his fondness of indiscriminate and frequently carried out killings. As the young man's laughter waned, the soldier grew more nervous and scenarios of his own untimely demise flitted through his mind like the images of a macabre slideshow. It was entirely likely that the Kazekage's unperturbed mood would change in an instant. The soldier thought an unspoken prayer to whoever was listening above, that he would not be around when the Kazekage loses his mind to his regular bouts of manic highs.

"Show her in."

The soldier's tense body flinched at the soft-spoken command.

"Yes sir." He responded quickly and turned around to gesture at the woman behind him.

The therapist was an impeccably dressed woman wearing a gray-colored two-piece dress suit. She had blond hair that was sported in an unusual way. It was tied up in four separate bundles that extended straight out in bushy tresses. When she saw that the soldier was waving her in, she proceeded to walk with slow deliberate steps, to the door that the soldier was holding open for her. Strolling past the soldier, she murmured "You may leave" with a dismissive flick of her hand. The soldier moved the moment the words left her lips, as if he had been waiting for her to allow him to go. As the soldier rushed down the lonely corridor, hurrying so quickly that he barely maintained the façade of self-control, the lady therapist stepped into the blackness of the room.

"Hellooooooo doctor…"Crooned the monotone voice that greeted her from the darkness.

"What happened to the light?" She asked immediately, disliking the dark because it shrouded too many dangers from view.

"The light bulb burned out." The soft tenor voice replied. Although the line was said without any audible emotion, the woman sensed that the speaker spoke with an amused grin on his face.

Refusing to be affected by the creepiness of the atmosphere, the therapist demonstrated just how well-prepared she was for this session by pulling a small but powerful flashlight out of a breast pocket. She clicked a button and a burst of intense beam instantly shot out of the flashlight, and by chance, caught the only other person in the room on the face. Instead of wincing at the sudden luminosity, the Kazekage continued to stare straight at the therapist, even as his irises constricted to almost nothingness against the backdrop of his pale teal eyes. Looking back at the man, the psychiatrist saw that her initial intuition was right: He WAS wearing a toothy grin.

"Is it time for therapy already?" The Kazekage asked. His lips were pulled back in a painful looking manner, revealing his pearly whites that shone sinisterly under the light. It made one feel about as comfortable as one would be if a shark flashed a teeth-filled smile.

"Only if you want it to be." Came the careful response of the doctor of mental health.

"You disappoint me…nee-chan…" The Kazekage's stare was fixed on the therapist's stern, yet attractive sea-blue eyes. "All your visits are work-related." He complained without a trace of real feeling.

"DON'T call me that."

"Oh?" His nonexistent eyebrows arched. "Maybe you prefer something more respectful…like…Onee-san or Aneue. We ARE sort of royalty you know…" He bowed his head and leered up at her through the dirty, stuck-together bangs of his cherry-red hair.

"Please Gaara, I'm not here to play your mind games." The therapist said tiredly, sounding old beyond her years.

Gaara's humor instantly vanished and his face relaxed into an expressionless pallid mask. "Fine then Temari, go ahead and try to cure me of my insanity." He said to her, as if issuing a challenge.

Temari scrutinized Gaara's squalid appearance and saw oily hair that hung limply in clumps, and clothing that looked as if it was worn past an expiration date. His milky cobalt eyes were sunken, surrounded by a greenish gray-tinged ring that advertised his losing battle with insomnia. Exactly how long he's sat alone in this cave of a room while clinging to his oversized gourd was anyone's guess. He looked pitiable and Temari felt an alien twinge of pain deep within her chest. It was the sister in her that was hurt by seeing Gaara in his current state. The nearly forgotten part of her that still remembered Gaara was her younger brother. Her homicidal, blood-lusting little brother who used to be a sweet-faced boy before their parents uglified his being with their never-ending onslaught of cruelty. Watching him, the focus of Temari's observation gradually drifted to the series of scars on Gaara's forehead; the thin pale streaks of raised flesh that merged together to form the word 'Ai', the Chinese character for the word 'love'. Yes, she remembered now. Gaara always loved their mother, and while their mother also had a hand in making Gaara the monster he is today, Temari relegated most of the blame on their father. "When was the last time you had some sleep?" Temari asked quietly.

"Can't remember…" He told her, sounding unwell. "Mother has been keeping me up with her constant demands…but that's ok…." He looked down at the flesh-colored gourd that was nested against his body. "I'm happy that mother is so hungry for my attention…. It means that she loves me......"

The skin of Temari's forehead furrowed in controlled, barely roused anger. "That thing is not Okaa-sama." She told him seriously.

"Shut up." Gaara snapped as his eyes flicked up and captured her gaze with the intensity of his pale-colored orbs. "You'll upset mother."

Intimidated, Temari modified her tone. "Okaa-sama is dead." She said. This time, her voice was soft and had an undercurrent of sorrow.

"No…I don't want to listen.." The pasty-skinned teenager said huskily. One of his arms hugged the gourd closer while the other went to his forehead where he began to rub at his scar. Temari frowned because she knew Gaara's touching of his scar was not a good sign. It was an obsessive compulsive indulgence that Gaara resorted to whenever he was upset. Once he starts it's hard to get him to stop. He becomes lost in himself and no one will be able to reach him until he's worn himself out.

"Please Gaara, stop." She pleaded. "You're going to rub your skin raw." Gaara ignored her. With his eyes closed, he had a look of rapture as his fingers fervently stroked the unevenly healed flesh. Temari saw the patch of skin there was already turning pink from his attention and she grew more worried. "Gaara?" She said his name with concern. Temari wasn't surprised when he acted as if he didn't hear her. The young woman knew it was time to give up. Turning around, she exhaled heavily through her nose. "I see you're not in the mood for a session. I'll come back next week." She told him. When he still didn't utter an answer, Temari turned her flashlight away from Gaara and used it to find her way back to the door. She could hear the dreadful huffs of Gaara's heavy breathing progressively becoming faint as she walked away. Temari reached a hand out to the door and-

"Wait." Commanded a dry throaty voice.

By the change in character of his tone, Temari knew Gaara was entering another phase of his personality; the dangerous one. "Yes?" Her falsely cool voice trembled slightly.

"That soldier before…" Gaara wheezed deeply. "Bring him to me."

Temari turned off the flashlight and the room fell back into a complete pitch-black. Daintily, she tucked the miniature flashlight into the pocket from which it was extracted. A hoarse chuckle floated to her ears from the center of the room.

"Mother said the blood of that soldier smelled sweet. You know how mother always gets a little peckish around midnight." The sentence ended with a harsh giggle.

Temari nodded, not knowing if Gaara could see her reply, before she pulled open the door and walked out into the light.

* * *

"Report your name." Demanded the robotic female voice that was synthesized by the building's Artificial Intelligence program.

"Nara Shikamaru."

As the program analyzed for the vocal traits that were distinctive to Shikamaru, a ray of crimson light swept over his eyes and after a series of approving beeps, the metallic door to his apartment glided open.

Shikamaru laboriously dragged his boot-clad feet into his pristine and empty apartment. He didn't own many furnishings; only a couch, some chairs, a bed, and the rest of the stuff were built into the dwelling. As he walked past his dull-looking gray couch, Shikamaru pulled the stiff bulletproof vest off his body and tossed the weighty thing haphazardly onto the overstuffed furniture. Without the extra burden clinging to his chest, he felt he could finally breath normally.

"Okaerinasai Goshujin-sama." His apartment said as warmly as its program would allow. "May I get you or your guest anything to drink?" Asked the program's feminine voice.

"No." Shikamaru replied gruffly. "Turn yourself off."

"Yes sir." The apartment's program replied amiably. A second later, the glow of the small monitor that was mounted on the wall next to the light switch turned blank.

Without getting an invitation, Ino followed Shikamaru into his abode and started strolling around the reasonably-sized living quarter, surveying everything in her immediate vicinity. After taking an approximate appraisal of the place, she let loose an appreciative whistle. "Heyyy this isn't bad at all! I thought you said you were poor!"

"I am." He snapped with irritation. "I had to kill to get this place." Ino laughed, not knowing that he was telling the truth.

"Sooooo.." Ino sidled up to him, "Where's your room?" She asked, putting a delicate hand on his arm.

'It's probably a move she uses all the time to get men to do whatever she wants', Shikamaru thought irately. The thought of giving her a lecture on how he was infinitely smarter than the average run-of-the-mill-think-with-your-dick kind of guys she was used to dealing with passed his mind, but in the end, he chose to step back and pull his arm away. "Why?" He inquired aloud and glared down at her with eyes full of mistrust.

Ino sighed good-naturedly despite of his hostility and crossed her arms with a patronizing smile on her lips. "You can't honestly expect me to sleep on the couch do you?" She said to him, brimming with amusement, like a mother familiarizing an infant child with the established decorum of society.

"Like hell I'm going to give you my room!" Shikamaru growled, full of indignation. His room held his bed, the one item he actually cared enough to pay money for. And since sleeping was his one and only hobby, he put a lot of emphasis on the quality of bed he bought. It was his indispensable tool that provided quality and comfortable sleep; his only guilty luxury. Shikamaru was both shocked and offended that the woman would be so impudent that she'd toss the owner of the apartment out of his own sleeping quarters.

"Well it'd be the honorable thing to do." The cheeky blond quipped back.

"Says who I'm honorable? Maybe I brought you here with the intention of assaulting your body." Saying that, Shikamaru's hand sprung out with speed too fast for reaction and he seized Ino by her chin, his action reiterating his previous point. "What do you have to say about that?" He questioned her abusively while forcing the petite woman to look up into his sneer.

Holding Ino's head in position, he was able to look her full in the face and he saw that her eyes were like the unruffled waters of the tranquil sea. There was no fear in those eyes as she steadfastly watched him. They stood in the middle of the living room; sky-blue eyes and murky onyx eyes exchanging a silent conversation. Without Shikamaru realizing it, his stern hold slackened and gradually slipped away. He suddenly felt awkward. Then the discomfort was washed away by a deep and profound sense of loathing for himself. Reeling from the force of his own guilt, Shikamaru released her and looked away with an ashamed slouch in his wide shoulders. "Fine…you can have my room." He whispered in a mild voice he didn't even know he possessed.

Ino grinned at him, bright eyed. "I knew you were gonna to say that."

"But that doesn't mean I trust you!" He reminded her. "If I find out you're a spy or something, I'll kill you myself."

"Whaaatever" She sang out as she dragged her suitcases to his bedroom.

Left alone in the living room, Shikamaru looked at his couch then stiffly bent to pick up his uniform vest. If he was going to start sleeping on the couch, he shouldn't leave his possessions all over his new bed. It wasn't as good as his old bed, but it was something. 'Mendokusee..' groused his inner voice. Troublesome indeed….

* * *

Nee-san: Sister (affectionate)

Onee-san, Aneue: sister (increasing formality)

Okaa-sama: mother (formal)

Okaerinasai: welcome home

Goshujin-sama: Master (formal)

People have commented that I can make Ino yell without using all caps lock. True, but I used caps because I was trying to write Ino in a way that would make her seem like a very annoying person. Sure I love Ino but we all gotta admit, she's a pretty loud person LOL. Besides, I was trying to show that while Shikamaru is worldly and realistic, Ino is still very much a child and prone to the tantrums that are characteristics of immature kids. At least that's how she presents herself.


End file.
